“Good.”
“What about my mother?” Melissa asked, looking anxiously at Anne Marie.
“This is your decision, not hers.”
She nodded again, as if she needed to be reminded of that. “If I don’t go to England…”
“Why can’t you go?”
“Mom said I couldn’t have the job unless I aborted the baby.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t mean that,” Anne Marie said. “The news shocked her, that’s all.” She remembered Robert confessing that he’d gotten Pamela pregnant before they were married. Apparently she was afraid her daughter would repeat her own mistakes by marrying too young—and in Pamela’s view, marrying the wrong man.
“I should tell Michael right away, shouldn’t I?”
“That would be a good idea.” Anne Marie could see this was something Melissa wanted to do. “The two of you can talk it over together. Do you love him?”
“Yes, but… A friend told me she saw him with someone else.” She paused, tears running unchecked down her face. “If he loved me, he wouldn’t be dating again so soon, would he?”
“Who knows why men do anything?” Anne Marie asked, hoping to inject a bit of humor into the conversation.
Melissa responded with a wobbly smile. A moment later, she whispered, “Thank you, Anne Marie. I never thought I’d turn to you for anything and now I feel you’re the only person I can talk to.”
There’d been a time, a long time, when Anne Marie would’ve done anything to win her stepdaughter’s approval. Little did she realize it would come after Robert’s death.
They hugged and arranged to meet for lunch the following week. As they broke apart, Anne Marie recognized that Melissa wanted to say something else. She looked away and then back at Anne Marie, her eyes intent.
“I am sorry about the last time we met—you know that, right?”
Anne Marie nodded.
“Have you…?” She didn’t complete the thought, almost as though she was weighing the advisability of even asking.
“Have I what?”
Melissa shrugged. “Contacted Rebecca? Have you asked her about the…baby?”
“No.” Anne Marie kept her voice as flat as possible.
Her stepdaughter accepted that without further comment. With a wave and a “See you next week,” she headed for the door.
Anne Marie waited until Melissa had left the bookstore before she collapsed onto the overstuffed chair and pressed one hand over her eyes. This nightmare that had become her life just wasn’t going away. She was the one who wanted a child.
Not Rebecca.
Not Melissa.
Anne Marie.
Her longing for a baby had led to her separation from Robert—a desperate attempt to impress on him how serious she was. Not that it had done her any good. Instead, Robert’s personal assistant now had a baby, most likely his, and his daughter had turned to Anne Marie for advice about an unwanted pregnancy.
But there was no baby for her.
No love, either.
She sensed someone at her side and opening her eyes, found Theresa standing there. Her employee rested one hand on Anne Marie’s shoulder.
“Bad news?” she asked.
Forcing a smile, Anne Marie shook her head. “That was Robert’s daughter.”
Knowing the history between them, Theresa stared at her. “Melissa? Is she okay? Are you?”
“She…she misses her father.”
So did Anne Marie, even more than she’d thought possible.
Chapter 22
On Monday evening Barbie purposely stayed away from the movies. It wasn’t easy, but she felt she had no option. Last week she’d left her business card with Tessa; now Barbie felt the next move had to come from him.
In a way Mark had made the next move by having flowers delivered, although she considered that an indirect, even cowardly approach. The flowers were a lovely gesture, but she’d been looking for more—like an apology or an invitation to meet again. By ordering the floral arrangement he’d managed to communicate his interest, yet keep his pride intact.
Maybe…the gesture was enough. For the moment.
She recognized what he was trying to tell her. He’d made a move in this elaborate game of theirs; the next one was hers.
She knew a little more about him after a Google search. He was an architect with an independent practice and lived in a downtown condo he’d designed himself.
Barbie felt encouraged by his interest. No, she was ecstatic. Still, she had to restrain herself, not let him have the upper hand. She decided she’d return to the movies again, but not right away.
Tuesday afternoon, she thought she’d register for the belly dancing class being held at the Seattle Fitness Center. This was her first trip here, and she was surprised to find an Olympic-size pool, along with a huge gymnasium and several activity rooms. As she walked down the hallway to the office, she passed a shop that sold workout clothes, swimsuits and other exercise paraphernalia.
After filling out the paperwork and paying her fee, Barbie began to leave the building, feeling positive and determined. She was making her wishes come true. Smiling to herself, she rounded the corner and stopped abruptly as a man in a wheelchair moved toward the pool.
Mark Bassett.
Coincidence? Fate? Barbie wasn’t about to question it. Her heart felt as if it had shot all the way up into her throat. Without conscious thought she did an about-face and headed back, toward the shop. Within five minutes, she’d purchased a swimsuit and towel. Gaining entrance to the pool was a bit more difficult; before she was allowed to swim, she had to buy a six-month fitness membership. She slapped her credit card down on the counter, impatient to get into the water before Mark.
He had to believe this meeting wasn’t staged—which, in truth, it wasn’t. Okay, so her showing up at the pool might be a bit manipulative, but when life presented you with an advantage, you had to grab it with both hands.
Barbie changed into the swimsuit, a sleek blue one-piece, in the women’s dressing room and walked out as though she was strolling along a Caribbean shore. The suit, thankfully, was a perfect fit. She squared her shoulders and silently thanked her mother for every lesson she’d taken at that expensive charm school.
Using the railing, she lowered herself into the water and cringed at the temperature. Her own swimming pool was kept at a comfortable eighty-five degrees. This was eighty, eighty-one maximum, and in her opinion downright cold.
When she’d entered the pool area, the attendant had explained that this was the adult lap swim. As soon as she got into the water, Barbie realized these noontime swimmers were serious about their workout. They wore goggles and bathing caps, and to her they resembled nothing so much as a bunch of insects with their smooth shiny heads and large round eyes.
Barbie refused to allow her hair to get wet. She needed to go back to work right afterward, and she couldn’t arrive with dripping hair.
The minute she broke away from the side of the pool, another swimmer streaked past her, quickly followed by a second. It was quite apparent that no one appreciated her rather lazy form of breaststroke.
A third swimmer went by, kicking wildly, splashing her face and hair. Barbie swallowed a mouthful of chlorinated water and choked violently. She felt like she was about to cough up her tonsils. So much for making a sophisticated appearance.
She muttered a curse, treading water for a moment while she caught her breath. When she could breathe normally again, she wiped the water from her eyes. She’d given up even trying to keep her hair dry.
As she finally reached the other end of the pool, she saw Mark hanging on to the side, watching her. Clearly her antics were a source of amusement to him. His gaze found hers and he actually smiled.
Mark had smiled at her!
Since her hair was already ruined, Barbie stopped worrying about it and started swimming for all she was worth, face fully in the water. Her mascara was probably running, too, but she no longer c
ared.
Mark was waiting for her.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she said, hoisting herself up on the side of the pool. She gave him what she hoped was a dazzling smile.
“Yeah, some coincidence.”
“Come here often?” she asked.
“Every day.”
“Me, too,” she lied. “I can’t believe we’ve never run into each other before.”
“Every day?” He arched his eyebrows in disbelief. “Since when?”
She wasn’t fooling him, so she might as well own up to the truth. “Since today.”
He not only smiled at that, he laughed. The sound was deep, pleasant to the ear. She had the impression that he hadn’t done a lot of laughing in the last few years.
“I come here to swim,” Mark told her. “Keep up if you can.”
“Hey, you’re going to have to catch me,” she shouted after him.
That was a joke if there ever was one.
Mark took off and with impressive upper body strength sliced through the water. His ease and grace were mesmerizing. Barbie didn’t make the slightest effort to catch up with him. When he’d passed her twice, he stopped, waiting for her in the deep end. By then, Barbie had swum two laps and was too exhausted to swim anymore. Her breath came in shallow gasps. She grabbed the edge of the pool and felt her heart pounding hard against her ribs.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re really here?” he asked.
“Belly dancing.”
“I beg your pardon?” He sounded incredulous, and she wondered if he thought she was making fun of him.
“I signed up for a belly dancing class.”
“At the Fitness Center?”
Propping her elbow on the ledge, Barbie pushed the hair away from her face. “Just as I was leaving, I saw you and had the overwhelming urge to take a dip.”
“You’re a member?”
“I am now.”
Almost everyone had left the water. Barbie looked around, astonished to discover that only the two of them were still in the pool. When she glanced back at Mark, she saw him frowning.
“Why?” he asked.
Barbie didn’t know how to answer him. “Don’t you feel it?” she asked him instead. Judging by his puzzled expression, he either didn’t understand or didn’t want to, so she continued. “That first night in the theater… I’ve never experienced anything like it.”
“You’re imagining things,” he snapped.
“No, I’m not.” She wasn’t going to let him lie to her, let alone himself. The attraction between them was too intense to ignore.
“I realize you’re not happy about this,” she whispered. “You’ve made that pretty obvious.”
“Then leave me alone.”
“I wish I could,” she said, “but I just…can’t.” She hadn’t meant to reveal so much, but the words slipped out before she could stop herself. Their eyes met, and she could see the warring emotions inside him.
Using his free arm, he reached for her and slid his hand behind her neck and then slowly, as if fighting her every inch of the way, he brought his mouth to hers. He gave her ample opportunity to pull back.
She didn’t.
Barbie wanted his kiss, hungered for it. She opened her mouth to welcome him, and then she was crushed in his embrace, arms and legs entwined, mouths joined.
Their kiss was better than she ever would have dreamed. They abandoned the effort to stay afloat and started to sink. Clinging to each other they sank far below the surface, their mouths straining, searching, devouring.
By the time they broke the surface again, Barbie was gasping for air. Because his legs were paralyzed, Mark needed to move his arms to remain afloat. All Barbie needed to do was kick her feet.
The sheer exhilaration of his kiss overwhelmed her. But he didn’t seem to share her enthusiasm. His look was fierce, angry…afraid. He glared at her in much the same way he had the evening they’d first met.
“That was wonderful,” she said reverently. It was very different from any sensual experience she’d shared with Gary, and she felt no guilt, no regret. Only gratitude.
He didn’t respond.
“Mark?” His name was a soft plea on her lips. She couldn’t bear it if he said or did something to destroy what she’d found to be an intensely moving experience.
Without speaking he kissed her a second time, and they sank into the clear blue water, wrapped in each other’s arms. After a moment, they bobbed to the surface again.
Mark released her and Barbie sagged breathlessly against him, her head on his shoulder. It’d been so long since a man had held her or kissed her….
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he whispered, but even as he spoke the words, he caressed her wet hair. He was braced against the side of the pool and she held on to him.
“It’s a brilliant idea! Stop arguing with me.” The sheer joy of being in his arms rang in her voice.
“Barbie—”
She shushed him with a kiss. “I mean it. Stop arguing.”
He laughed again, the sound echoing in the cavernous room.
“I’m turning into a prune,” she said, “and I love every second of it and all because I’m with you.”
“You’re very beautiful,” he murmured.
“Even with wrinkled skin and mascara running down my face?”
“If you only knew…” Then, seeming to reach some kind of decision, he slowly exhaled. “Listen, Barbie, this is all very flattering, but—”
She interrupted him again, kissing him full on the mouth, using her lips and tongue to steal his very words. After coming this far, she didn’t plan to let him get cold feet and a cold heart now.
His eyes were still closed when she broke off the kiss.
“You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for. You—”
“I won’t tolerate a man making decisions for me. If you think I’m going to allow you to decide what I do and don’t know, then you’re sadly mistaken.”
The edges of his mouth quivered with the effort of suppressing a smile. “So you know everything there is to know about my disability.”
“Of course I don’t.”
He ignored her response. “You read a few things on the Internet and you think you know it all.”
“Well…okay, I read a few things.”
His eyes narrowed. “Like what?”
A flush rose in her cheeks. “Mainly, I was interested in how we’ll make love.”
Mark gasped—or perhaps it was a groan, she couldn’t tell which. “You’re getting way ahead of yourself.”
“Probably,” she admitted. “But that’s what I was most curious about.”
His face somber and apprehensive, he smoothed a wet tendril from her cheek. “I should tell you…I haven’t…since the accident.”
“Then it’s about time.” Barbie couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. Even more unbelievable was the fact that she could speak so openly and boldly about lovemaking with a man she barely knew.
Mark held her gaze a long moment. “Where do we go from here?”
“Where do you want to go?”
A smile twitched his lips. “Now, that’s a leading question if I ever heard one.”
She slapped his shoulder. “What I mean is we should probably get to know each other a little better.”
“Must we?” he asked with pretended chagrin.
“Yes!”
“We can’t go to bed first and ask questions later?”
“I’m not that kind of woman.” Although considering the way he kissed, she might think about converting.
“I was afraid of that.”
“You swim every day?”
“Every day,” he assured her. “You too, right?”
“Right.” This schedule change was going to take some adjustment. “Except Monday and Wednesday, when I’ll be in my belly dancing class. Okay, I’ll swim two or three times a week.”
“Right.”
&nb
sp; “I could meet you afterward.” Her staff was going to be putting in a lot of extra hours. That wasn’t a problem; Barbie had been planning to give them more hours, anyway.
“You’re sure about this?” Mark didn’t seem convinced.
“I’m positive and if you ask me once more, I’ll—”
“If you want to punish me, all you have to do is press that perfect body of yours against mine.”
“That’s nice to know.” She moved closer and slid her right leg between his thighs. Her breasts brushed his chest as she spread eager kisses along his jaw.
“I suggest you stop now,” he muttered. “There’s a seniors’ class coming in soon.”
“Can’t. I’m thanking you.”
“For what?”
“The flowers you sent.” She wouldn’t have found the courage to confront him this afternoon if he hadn’t made that move.
Mark went very still. “I didn’t send you flowers.”
“But…the card had your name on it.”
He muttered something she couldn’t completely hear; she caught the gist of it, though. Mark’s sister or perhaps his mother was responsible for that bouquet.
“So, you didn’t send the flowers,” she confirmed.
Mark wound his fingers into her hair and dragged her mouth to his. “Let’s just pretend I did.”
Barbie was more than willing to do exactly that.
Chapter 23
Lillie Higgins stared at the phone, then groaned in frustration and turned away. This should be easy. Everyone seemed to think there was nothing to it. But try as she might, Lillie couldn’t make herself call Hector.
In desperation, not knowing how else to manage this, she’d contacted the dealership instead, with a list of imaginary complaints about her car. The receptionist she spoke with made her an appointment for Thursday morning at ten. By the time she arrived at the service department, her stomach was tied up in knots a sailor couldn’t untangle.
A man she didn’t recognize came out to discuss the trouble her car had supposedly been giving her.
“Could you explain again what the problem is?” he asked, studying his clipboard.